The bitingly cold wind roused him from what little sleep he'd managed atop the roof of the van.
It was high enough that the immune could not reach him, the brain-dead things couldn't climb or open doors. A screamer could though.
He lay still for a moment , listening to his surroundings and praying for silence.
This morning it seemed the gods were merciful.
No moaning, No Screaming.
He was alone.
Just as he had been these past years.
How many had passed now? 4? 5?
The temptation to cast a tempus , was not worth the risk of Screamers being drawn like moths to a flame.
The ever present bite of hunger coiled in his belly , but he ignored it.
Food was scarce , especially when avoiding towns. Thanks to Gamps law, of elemental transfiguration, food could not be conjured.
If you had food you could duplicate it. Turn one sandwich into two, or 10. But you couldn't duplicate the energy or calories contained in the food.
You could turn a 200 calorie sandwich into 10 sandwiches, but there'd only be 20 calories in each.
It would take away the growling of your empty stomach but it would not give you any more energy or put meat on your bones, as his whippet thin frame could attest.
Plus, the effort of magically duplicating food that had no nutritional value, was not worth the risk of drawing screamers.
So he lived with the biting hunger. Accepted it. It was another way of knowing he was alive.
His body ached as he walked. It was not good to stay in one place for too long, not if it wasn't defendable.
His feet burned from walking, his muscles ached and his skin stung as the biting wind ripped through him.
The coat he wore was threadbare, but it was not worth the the risk of venturing into town to find another.
Not for the first time, he wished for his thick woolen robes, though he'd learned quickly that being identifiable on sight as a wizard , was not a safe position to be in among panicked muggles.
The deep scar and bullet lodged in his shoulder blade attested to that.
There was a building up ahead.
A station master's terminal on the train tracks.
No other buildings in sight for miles , and mostly flat landscapes of what were once farmers fields.
He could perhaps block the stairs and sleep upstairs.
There were windows he could climb out of if the lower level became full of immune.
It would be nice to have a roof over his head.
The height of the building meant you could see for miles in each direction , hopefully preventing him from being caught unaware.
It was as good a prospect as he'd had in a very long time.
He followed the tracks until he reached the building. Then began to circle it.
Only one door. Equally good and bad. It meant he wasn't about to be taken by surprise, but it also meant that if he were to be overwhelmed, the only escape would be out of the window... or apparating. A very risky prospect. You could accidentally apparate into the middle of a horde of immune, but regardless of that the magical signature would draw screamers to you from a mile around.
A last ditch resort only.
Taking a moment to consider it , and deciding he'd rather have the roof over his head , he made his decision.
The door was jammed shut from the inside and he decided rather than drawing immune with the noise of kicking it in , or screamers with using a spell to blast it in...he had to find another way.
There was am open window large enough for him to get in.
High enough off the ground immune would not get through, but he'd have to put something there to block screamers.
Using the guttering he made his way up until he got to the window , then casting a quick look around and finding no movement in the room , he hefted himself through.
Brushing the dust off himself he began to survey the room around him , only to freeze at a noise from behind a closed door.
He reached onto his back for the baseball bat he carried, as he slowly shuffled closer to the closed door.
Listening, he waited...and waited.
There.
Another soft sound , like feet shuffling on the floor.
Not screamers then. Immune most likely, and not many from the sound of it.
He could manage a few, it was worth the risk to have the roof over his head.
Making his way across the floor he found his way to the door and tested the handle, locked.
A very mild alohamora was simple enough magic to not make too much of a signature, and he knew from the view across the fields that there were no screamers within at least a mile.
He chanced it. And the lock popped open with a click.
There was another shuffle inside in responce to the noise.
Hefting the bat over his shoulder he braced himself and pushed the door open , charging into the room with the bat over his shoulder.
Only to freeze instantly at the crossbow levelled at his face.
The woman was small and like him had a scarf wrapped around all but her eyes.
It was practical , it prevented you from accidentally getting blood in your mouth if you were attacked by the immune.
Small she may have been, but her aim was steady, and the crossbow was a strong one. One of the heavy ones muggles used for hunting.
Even if she'd have pointed it at him from a few hundred yards away, it would've killed him.
Fucking Brilliant.
This was just what he needed. Being teased by fate into thinking he's finally found somewhere he could rest his head, only to get himself killed by this slip of a muggle girl. Or worse, robbed and left defenceless.
So fixated on his inner monologue , he nearly missed her soft shaky words.
"Snape?"
His eyes snapped to hers.
He knew that voice.
He hadn't heard it for years, but he knew it.
"Granger?"
A shaky hand reached up and pulled the scarf from her face.
It was Granger. Older, leaner and without the look of innocence. But it was her.
He mimicked her movements and pulled the scarf from his face.
For a moment they just stood, staring at each other, taking one another in.
Then her hand on the crossbow shook , and with a sob she threw it on the bed behind her and launched herself at him.
Her arms wrapped around his neck as he dropped the bat to stoop down and wrap his around her in return.
She kissed his cheek not caring about the short beard he now sported , and he buried his face in her neck.
When He straightened his back, she tightened her arms around him, and with a small jump wrapped her legs around his waist as she continued to pepper kisses on his cheek whilst sobbing. He grabbed her arse to support her , and tried to fight his own tears as he squeezed her too tightly to his chest.
Eventually his legs gave out , and he sank to his knees on the floor , still not letting go of her.
She cupped his cheeks and kissed him, still crying, and he'd given up trying to hold his own tears back.
Eventually she buried her face in his neck , much as he had done , and breathed him in.
"How" he asked into her hair. "How did you know it was me?"
"Your eyes..." She whispered into his neck.
She pulled back to look at his face, and with a teary smile moved his hair out of his face.
"No one has eyes like you severus snape" and to his surprise she kissed him once more
"And no one in my life other than you has ever managed to look that annoyed with me"
He laughed then , deep and low and pulled her tightly to him once more.
Thanking all the gods and deities , for delivering him one insufferable little swot.